


I tried to be someone

by luxuries



Series: Lux. Whumptober 2020 [12]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Aged-Up Damian Wayne, Asphyxiation, Batfamily (DCU) Feels, Blood, Broken Bones, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Guilt, Head Injury, Hurt Dick Grayson, Identity Issues, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Manipulation, Mild Gore, Mild Hurt/Comfort, POV Dick Grayson, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Violence, Whumptober
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:00:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27136981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luxuries/pseuds/luxuries
Summary: Damian was a fraying string, waiting to snap. His need for someone- anyone- to be there for him. Not to leave him- it left Dick feeling sick in both familiarity and guilt. Dick found what he needed in Bruce (for a while, at least.) In Alfred, in the titans and his brothers. Damian only had, in his mind, Dick. Dick was Damian's sanity- and Bruce was a fool to keep them apart.Or:Damian is out of his mind. He's out of his mind and he's breaking Dick's door down.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne
Series: Lux. Whumptober 2020 [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947232
Comments: 4
Kudos: 96
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	I tried to be someone

**Author's Note:**

> No 12. I THINK I’VE BROKEN SOMETHING Broken Down | Broken Bones | Broken Trust from Whumptober 2020!  
> Content warning for a mental breakdown (dududu duu dududu du du). Abuse/violence from a trusted someone, a broken bone and injury not otherwise specified.

Pounding on the front door stops Dick in his tracks. The fierce, relentless knocking could only be one person. Okay, maybe two; if you were to count Slade as a human being. He puts his half empty bowl on the counter and heads towards the front door, one hand up defensively while the other searches his own pockets for some kind of weapon.

"Damian?" His mind is harassing him with a thousand scenarios; all bad. The knocking stops abruptly, possibly waiting for Dick to open the door. He holds his breath.

"You know I can't open the door Damian." He loosens his defensive hold. He wasn't in danger. Damian was probably going through an episode right now, wasn't fully in the right mindset, if Damian's intense focus on destroying his front door was anything to go by. Dick has handled it before- multiple times while he was Batman. The boy was prone to flashbacks that streamed into his reality, brought panic and distrust to otherwise normal situations. But lately, Damian's episodes have been more rough. Harder to deal with. They'd agreed to keep distance, based on Damian's severe dependance on Dick. It wasn't healthy. At least, that's what Bruce said. And what Bruce says, goes.

"Let me in?" The robin asks anyways, completely ignoring his statement. Dick knows he can't, he _can't_ open the door. It would only invite more trouble, possibly hurting one of them in the process. Damian waits for another second before he repeats himself. "Let me in." An order.

"Please don't do this." Dick was exhausted. He'd just come back from another draining day at work. The amount of paperwork he was assigned should be illegal. Besides, this was his pre-scheduled nap time. Having to deal with Damian during one of his episodes just wasn't on the list of things Dick could handle right now, as terrible as it sounded. Sometimes, the robin was a two man job. He'd have to call someone to help him-

"Dick, please!" A wretched cry. Pleading. "Open the door." Dick's blood pumps in his ears, the sound of his heart tearing to pieces. It took everything in him not to just slam open the door and hold Damian in his arms. He sounded so hurt- so distressed. The pounding in his ears starts to match the incessant knocking on his door. No doubt the neighbors above his apartment would send a complaint the following morning, despite their own nightly screaming sessions which shook the whole building.

Damian was shaking the building now, for sure. The old wooden floorboard creaked under the mans heavy footfalls, no doubt pacing as he wrung his hands through his hair. Tearing at the strands in frustration. The image sent another shock of pain down Dick's spine.

"I'm sorry." His voice wavers. He places one hand against the door, placating the imaginary boundary between them. A miserable attempt at conciliating both of them. It doesn't work.

"Richard," the voice is startlingly low, nothing like Damian's usual, somewhat playful, tone. "If you don't open the door right now I swear to god." Dick processes the words and removes his hand in shock. Damian seemed on the edge of tears just a second ago. Now, all he heard was anger. The sudden shift in emotions was dangerous, especially when paired with a highly trained assassin. Dick didn't doubt he could take him, but he would have to hurt Damian in the process. And he really, really didn't want to do that. He had to do something, and fast. Call Bruce? No, it would only serve to humiliate Damian. Talk him down?

The whole building holds its breath, anxiously clinging onto the tension of the situation. 

"Damian, you're scaring me." Dick admits softly- maybe too softly. The other side is unnaturally silent. Dick can't even hear his neighbors usual arguing above him, as they are prone to do every night while he is trying to sleep. Maybe they are listening in. Dick hopes not.

Moments pass.

"Damian?"

"Step away from the door." A violent statement laced with promise.

Dick's eyes widen and he steps back, reaching for his phone. Who to call? Who to text? Thoughtlessly, he sends an emergency text to the top person in his contacts.

He regrets his choice instantly. 

Before Dick can delete the text and hope to God the receiver hadn't seen it, the door frame shudders and scrapes. Damian was attempting to rip it off by it's hinges! And he was succeeding! What did this guy eat? _The building was too old. He needed more safety measures. The lock was rusted._ He could already hear Bruce's lists of complaints, but had bigger things to handle currently.

"Jesus, Damian!" He shouts, forgetting to keep his voice down for his upstairs neighbours in his shock. Damian has never gone so far as to... In place of response, the man gives a final shove to the door and it bursts open in a crash, bouncing on the floor (just meters from Dick's socked feet) once, twice, before laying deadly still. The now open space plays at being a picture frame of a shadowed portrait, a background of dusty particles and the few remaining splinters and strings of wood. The spotlight (nasty yellow hallway lighting) is, of course, on the boy. Panting, looking increasingly unhinged- Damian. He seems impossibly tall, despite his still slightly hunched figure from breaking down the door. The lack of lighting plays at his cheekbones, his jawline. Exposes the strong muscles in shadows and curves.

Feral. Deranged.

His eyes were all wrong, dark and seeking- landing on their target, Dick. He's heaving, his whole body going up and down, muscles tensing and loosening rhythmically. Arms on display in a white wife-beater, hair lightly plastered to his forehead from sweat. He looks as if he ran here- all the way from Gotham. The man straightens, swatting at the stray dust and dirt on his shoulders. Drags a shaky hand through his hair, a cloud of dust floats above him like a halo. He looms over Dick. 

For the first time ever; Dick is afraid of his robin.

And Damian can tell. He transforms in mere seconds - so bizarre and immediate that Dick blinks to make sure his vision is working correctly. Damian fixes his posture, slightly lowering his head to seem more level with Dick. How he normally stands. There's a crinkle in his eye from his lopsided smile (It doesn't look quite right. Did it ever?), hands splayed palm up in a wild attempt to show he was harmless. Trying to calm Dick down. The only evidence of what just happened was the entire door laid out on the cream carpet, a discarded broken lock and the door's hinges strewn around in various positions. 

"Dick, I'm glad to see you again." Damian takes a step closer, neatly side stepping the mess on the floor. Dick responds in turn, stepping back. Keeping distance. "I'm sorry about the door, I'll have some men come by to fix it for you." Dick is at a loss for words.

"Men?"

"Yes, my mother has introduced me to some of her... colleagues."

"Oh oka-" Dick starts, before actually comprehending what was said. "Wait, what?" 

"Yes, so... Do not concern yourself over the financials." That was the last thing on Dick's mind. The man looks around and awkwardly 'closes' the door, whereby he grabs the door and places it against the frame- a split where you could see the outdoor hallway still clearly visible. Like those cheap bathroom stalls which kept Dick in never ending dread till he finished.

"Anyways, I thought I would come by for dinner. Make sure you're eating something." And it's so sweet and so Damian-esque that Dick almost feels a shred of normalcy. But the truth was undeniable- Damian was not fully here, and Dick wasn't sure who he was. Not really. It leaves him shaky- who was this stranger that he loved? This man that always kept himself restrained, not flinching as the rope grows ever tighter still. Who avoided touch and yet craved it like no other, who let himself loose on villains- kicking them with ruthless ferocity while they're already down.

"Damian-" Dick stumbles over his words, finding himself backed to the wall. "Damian, I think you should leave."

It was the wrong thing to say.

The boy's- no, man's eyes flash, leaking displeasure and annoyance and whatever else- Dick wasn't sure he could read his brother anymore. Was everything he knew a lie? No. This boy was his robin, watched his back, _cared_ for him. So why was Dick so unnerved?

What didn't need careful interpretation was Damian's approach. A predator circling its prey. The panther waiting to pounce. 

Dick didn't see it, didn't understand it, when his brothers claimed there was something off about Damian. Of course there would be, Dick thought- he grew up with a blunt knife in hand. Trained not only to kill, but to make it _hurt_. Who wouldn't be a little broken, a little off? Besides, all the robins carried scars. What made Damian different?

"Damian, listen to me-" Dick tries, holding his hands out in similar fashion to Damian's now abandoned attempts at placating. However, Dick's hands are also raised in order to stop the man from getting any closer. "We can figure this out, lets just-"

"No, you listen to me!" Dick flinches as the man shouts at him. It sounds nearly identical to Bruce's jagged voice; his serrated fury. Damian's fingers dig into his shoulders, keeping Dick in place. So close that Dick can smell the man's aftershave. The man's heavy breathing brushes against his forehead, making his eyes flutter. Gods, Dick should have seen this coming. 

Damian was a fraying string, waiting to snap. His need for someone- anyone- to be there for him. Not to leave him- it left Dick feeling sick in both familiarity and guilt. Dick found what he needed in Bruce (for a while, at least.) In Alfred, in the titans and his brothers. Damian only had, in his mind, Dick. Dick was Damian's sanity- and Bruce was a fool to keep them apart. A mother who sees her child as a weapon, teaching him callousness and ruthlessness; a father who sees his child as a prodigy, treating him with doubt and suspicion. And then there was Dick. Dick, Dick, Dick. Giving him attention and kindness and purpose and support. 

"Damian." Dick says softly, his steady gaze meeting Damian's twitchy and erratic eyes. "It's okay." The man tightens his hold in response, undoubtably leaving hand-shaped bruises, disbelief high in his brows. Dick moves to speak again, feeling more reassured by the man's silence.

"I don't need you." Damian seethes, gaze nearly unwavering as he studies Dick's response. Dick knows the man is just in the midst of an episode- in the midst of trying to convince himself that he's strong and everyone else isn't. It was necessary, for Damian. When an animal is pressed into a corner it will raise its hackles, show its teeth. 

"Don't say that-" Dick tries anyways, knowing the boy will only regret it in the morning. But he can't seem to get a word in.

"You are useless."

"Damian-" The hands pressed against his shoulders shift up and encircle around Dick's neck. Dick gasps breathlessly as the hold tightens painfully. "Damian-" He repeats, desperate.

The man effortlessly drags him closer, into Damian's space. He slightly lifts him, Dick's scrambling legs searching for some sort of foundation to gain balance from, and looks deeply into his eyes. Dick tries to keep his gaze steady, show he's unharmed. That this is okay- that he can let it all out on Dick. However, without a second to prepare himself- he's slammed against the wall. His head bounces against the cheap plaster, and Dick sees double. 

Head lolling, he tries to keep his stomach's contents _in_ his stomach. Focusing on his breathing- which is restricted and broken- for some sense of control. 

Like a sledgehammer, Damian brings him closer, away from the wall, and slams him back into it. Dick lets out a pained cry, part shock- why would Damian do this? Why is he hurting him? - and part shame -how he was so weak, thrown around like a child's rag doll. Incapable of putting a stop to the abuse. Most importantly, guilt. Damian would feel so bad after he finds out how Dick let Damian treat him. 

The man lets go, and Dick catches himself on the wall. Hands braced out on the unsupportive surface, looking for balance as his world tips sideways.

"Damian." He coughs, testing his bruised windpipe.

"Shut up." Dick does. Lowers himself to a seated position against the cracked plaster, knees pressed against his chest. Watches Damian pace, again. The man's hands shake with adrenaline as he talks to himself. It's quiet- less than a whisper. But Dick can still catch some words.

"Dead, dead, dead." 

Dick blanches.

"What?" He speaks up hesitantly, unsure if he heard him right. Damian stops in his place, staring at the wall in front of him with concerning stillness. Dick moves to stand up, but Damian is on him like a hawk. 

A stomp, a crack. There's a hissed remark that Dick doesn't quite catch, doesn't quite catch because his mind goes haywire at a sudden burst of agony.

There's a pressure in his forearm, a freakish sensation that's wholly unwelcome. Dick looks down foolishly, as people are prone to do, and regrets doing so straight after. He swallows down vomit, leaving an acidic, sick taste in his already aching throat.

A part of his radius is bumped up- like a tumor. The skin around it is pale white, all color vacating in a panic at the sudden intrusion. He hears a gasp above him.

As far as injuries go, it's not all that painful. It's the pained expression on Damian's face that makes his eyes wet.

"No, no, it's alright!" Dick claims quickly, voice betraying him as it wavers in pain. "It's okay." His hand feels numb. His head feels like one big bruise.

"Oh my god, Dick-" Damian is back. Back, back. Dick wishes he wasn't, not for a little while at least. Not till Dick was out of his sight, getting a change of clothes- something with longer sleeves. A turtleneck in the summer.

"It's okay." The comedown from an episode was always the worst part. The realization of things said, things done, wore on Damian like nothing else. Damian looks around helplessly and promptly moves to Dick's side, surveying his wounds. Gently grabbing Dick's fractured arm and examining it with a grimace.

"Fuck, Dick!" Damian sounds incredibly angry- but no longer has the chilling identical tone as his father. And Dick holds onto that fact with tired hands. Keeping a flinch at bay with the knowledge that this was Damian. _Damian_. Damian sinks down next to him, looking down at his hands with dismay. Dick just wants it to stop- wishes he could make the boy feel okay again. Remove the guilt blanketing over Damian's stressed form. 

"Shhh." He hushes softly, reaching for his robin with his good arm. Hugging him as tight as the pain will let him. "It's okay."

"It's not."

Dick rushes to disagree, until he realizes the dark tone isn't Damian speaking.

"Jason-" He starts. And then all he sees is hands, hands, hands. Pulling and pushing and grabbing. He feels himself being jostled based on the intense pain in his arm, making his vision zoom in and out in a dizzying manner. There's the telltale sound of punches being thrown, the scuffle of feet, the resounding bangs from limbs being thrown around and a neighbour's hollers to 'keep it down!' Dick crawls away from the miniature battle ground that was his hallway, trying to get some leverage.

His vision starts to blur- is he crying? He closes his eyes, lets the exhaustion sink into him. Finds comfort in the warm, soaked carpet. He touches the back of his head with his good hand. It comes back dipped in red paint.

Somewhere, in the distance, people are shouting his name.

**Author's Note:**

> yo im late to the party but WHY DID THEY KILL ALFRED BYE IM OUT  
> title song sting by the NBHD  
> Also im not a psychologist and im not trying to diagnose damian, i tried to keep it kind of vague to avoid stigmatisation of any actual mental illnesses/disabilities. Please let me know if it is still offensive and I will delete/fix the work to be more suitable ahhh! i really hope i didn't offend anyone please let me know!
> 
> Feedback always appreciated! Stay safe!I tried to be someone


End file.
